


A Place Like Home

by whatsup_buttercup



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forced bonding as a concept - not between Victor and Yuuri, M/M, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Omega Verse, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-11-10 00:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsup_buttercup/pseuds/whatsup_buttercup
Summary: “Do you still skate, Yuuri?” It’s bold of Hiroshi to use his first name, but the familiarity makes sense, considering what they’re discussing.“No,” Yuuri says, empty. “Not anymore.”Hiroshi reaches out and puts his hand over Yuuri’s. It’s a little hot from the tea. “If you choose me, we have a rink nearby. I’ll make sure you can skate every day.”





	1. Chapter 1

Tatami mats. Two teacups on the low, traditional table. The air smells like old wood; a little fan in the corner circulates the summer humidity uselessly.

Yuuri has a duty and a place. He pours the tea. His hands don’t shake, but his shoulders are tight with the force of holding them still.

“So,” the man says, “Figure skating! That’s very interesting. How old were you when you started?”

They’re sitting across from each other. Despite the setup of the room, Yuuri is in casual clothing, having successfully fought off the blue yukata his handlers had attempted to coax him into.

“I started skating when I was four.” Yuuri says, then lets the silence linger. There’s an ache in his chest and a slight burning sensation in his eyes and, oh, he’d been a fool to think he’d grown numb already.

The man is tall and broad and ten years his senior, wearing a button-up shirt and a red silk tie. His name is Hiroshi. He works in finance.

“It sure would be nice to be on the ice on a hot day like today!” Hiroshi says, trying to keep the conversation going. Yuuri looks at his large hand on the green teacup. There’s a clunky silver watch resting on his wrist.

“Yes,” Yuuri agrees, just to be agreeable, the path of least resistance.

“Do you still skate, Yuuri?” It’s bold of Hiroshi to use his first name, but the familiarity makes sense, considering what they’re discussing.

“No,” Yuuri says, empty. “Not anymore.”

Hiroshi reaches out and puts his hand over Yuuri’s. It’s a little hot from the tea. “If you choose me, we have a rink nearby. I’ll make sure you can skate every day.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Yuuri says. Hiroshi says ‘choice,’ but it isn’t one, not really. A surge of anger wells up within him at the thought, frustration at the world and Japan and himself. Mostly at himself. He sips his tea to hide his face.

Yuuri is a retired figure skater, with an average record; the highlight being that he was formerly coached by Viktor Nikiforov. Twenty-four years old. Black hair, brown eyes, glasses. 173 centimeters tall, blood type A. The only rare thing about Yuuri himself is his secondary gender: male omega. He’d trade that distinction for anything in the world.

“They tell me that we’re very compatible.” Hiroshi’s hand is still over his own, trapping it to the table. Yuuri forces it not to shake.

“Yes,” says Yuuri. The more animal parts of his brain agree, now that he’s no longer on the very intense suppressants he’d been taking since he presented. Hiroshi smells great. Yuuri’s ass and thighs are wet with slick from that alone, even though they’ve just been sitting quietly in a room for no more than ten minutes; Yuuri’s disgusted at his body’s continual betrayal.

 Hiroshi is the third Alpha to be matched to Yuuri, having made it through the blood tests and health checks. He’s hardy and compatible and wealthy, very much so, like the other two. There will be a few more candidates and then Yuuri will have to make a choice, as much choice as he’s permitted.

 Male omegas are rare, especially in Japan. Rare enough that the Japanese government has stepped in to prop up declining birth rates and ensure they don’t die out. If a male omega is unmated by the age of 24, the bureaucracy kicks into high gear to help them find a suitable partner. Yuuri received special permission to continue past his birthday and through the GPF, but that was it. It’s all legal. Career essentially over, uprooted from his home and into an omega center, it had seemed like adding insult to injury when they took his passport as well.

They talk a little longer together, Yuuri and Hiroshi. It’s difficult to make pointless small talk because of how tight his throat is, but he manages somehow.

Hiroshi leaves. All in all, it was less than an hour together. His briefs are still traitorously wet, cock a little hard. Just like when he met with the other two, he’s easily overwhelmed by scents. It’s different from when he was on his suppressants, senses muted to the point where secondary genders were imperceptible. Now just the slightest sniff of a compatible alpha sends his body into overdrive, with arousal and burning, curling self-hatred.

Technically he’s allowed out of the center, to go to the park or the konbini down the street, but Yuuri opts to stay in his room, close his eyes and pretend this isn’t happening. It doesn’t help that the lack of exercise and omega hormones have packed on the pounds, rounding his cheeks and fattening his thighs; omega traits that he’s fought against forever.

His room at the center is simple and bare of personal effects. There are scent blockers on the door and windows and ample, fluffy sheets and pillows. Yuuri pulls open the closet where the futon is kept, drags it out, then curls into the dark space where it had been. His hands are white-knuckled where he grips his knees and tries to breathe through his tight chest, past his wildly-beating heart.

Later, much later, Yuuri falls asleep and dreams of Viktor; about the first time they took Makkachin to the beach together, about Viktor’s beautiful eyes, about Viktor’s warm smile. It’s the cruelest thing that’s happened all day.

 

* * *

 

“Yuuuuuuuri,” Phichit says, as soon as the call connects fully. “I know you’re busy at the onsen and all, but that doesn’t mean you can’t call me back.”

“Sorry.” Yuuri imagines he can hear the faint sounds of the rink in the background. “How’s practice?”

“Great! When I make it to the GPF this year, you better save some time for me. You’re not competing so we can have a few drinks.” Phichit’s voice is warm and familiar.

“Okay,” Yuuri says, trying to force some enthusiasm into his tone. “Of course I’ll be there to cheer you on.”

This is a lie. By December he’ll be mated already; probably pregnant.

“Just don’t forget” Phichit laughs. “I know you only have eyes for Viktor, which is great, by the way, but you’re my best friend. I get at least a few hours of your time.”

“Of course.” Phichit is one of the few people Yuuri still talks to. It’ll hurt, yes, but he’ll find a way to watch Phichit’s performance, even if he has to stream it on his phone.

“How’s Viktor doing, by the way?”

The number of unread text messages from the Russian on Yuuri’s phone is so anxiety-inducing that he keeps it turned off, most of the time.

“Great,” Yuuri says. Viktor’s back on the ice where he belongs, no longer held back by coaching.

Phichit can hear the words he’s not saying, like always. His tone shifts. “You know, Yuuri...”

“Sorry, Phichit, I have to go. Mari needs help with the towels.”

Yuuri ends the call, turns his phone back off, lays down and stares at the ceiling.

 

* * *

 

“It’s perfectly natural, Yuuri-kun.” Sakurai-san says. Her dark hair is tied back from her face with a citrus-themed bow, yellow and orange. It’s cute on her, a summer fashion trend that accentuates how much younger she is than the other nurses at the center.

“If anything, it’s a good sign!” She continues. “Your hormones are just settling into the normal range.”

Yuuri is mortified, sitting on the exam table with his robe pulled open, swollen nipples in view. They’re sore and heavy and tight; it’s hard to hold still as Sakurai-san manipulates them with a gloved hand. Her movements are steady and professional as she feels around his chest, checking to make sure everything is healthy. Before his eyes, a little bit of clear liquid comes out of his right nipple, coaxed by the pressure.

As the nurse types a few notes into her computer, Yuuri fights to breathe through the thick shame.

“You’re weight’s looking much better, too,” she praises, somehow making things worse. Gaining weight is one thing Yuuri’s always been spectacular at.

 

* * *

 

Hasetsu is too small for an omega center of their own, especially one with a specialist in males, so Yuuri is in Fukuoka, away from his family. He’s spent most of his adult life away from them, so it’s not too weird.

“I have two brothers and two sisters,” Tanaka explains. It’s an impressive number of siblings for a Japanese family, where birth rates are traditionally low. “And each of them have two children already!”

Yuuri nods and presses his fingernails so hard into his palm that he can feel them break the skin.

“So you see,” Tanaka continues, “I love having a big family. I would be honored to have many children with you, Yuuri.”

Tanaka’s younger than the others, handsome in his own way. Still in training but on the path to be a doctor. Yuuri’s wet again, from his alpha scent; his body says yes but his heart is entirely closed, locked up, hidden from view.

“You’re too kind,” Yuuri says, thinking that these suitors must all think he’s quiet, reserved, shy; not overwhelmingly disgusted by these men who want him for his gender, his lone special trait.

“I have a condo in the business district, with a fenced-in yard. Three bedrooms, plenty of room for kids.” Tanaka smiles, proud. “Although, if you’d like, we could find a place in Hasetsu, to be closer to your family.”

Yuuri tries to picture that future, their potential, shadowy children playing with Yuuko’s triplets.

“I’ve always liked the big city,” he lies.

 

* * *

 

If it's hard to fight his omega urges normally, it's near impossible during his heat. The first one since his teens, just after he’d arrived at the center, is a blackout blur of pain and longing in his memory.

“It should be better this time, Yuuri-kun,” Sakurai-san says, patting his shoulder. “Your hormones are a lot more stable now. It won't be as nice as if you were with your mate, of course, but this should be your last heat alone. Have you chosen yet?”

She's friendly and kind, but she's a beta and could never understand.

“No, not yet.” Yuuri says. “There’s one more.”

The extra applicant has given him more time than expected. They’ll meet tomorrow, before his heat sets in fully. Then Yuuri will choose who to spend the rest of his life with. The thought has stopped making him sad or angry, now. He feels blank and empty and distant.

It's been 10 months since he last saw Viktor and said, “Let's end this.”

His cheeks are flushed and red, pre-heat symptoms. Yuuri returns to his room and buries himself in the pile of blankets on the floor. Hot, aching, miserable, Yuuri grabs his cock and thinks guiltily of Viktor; his smile, his graceful form on the ice, his warm, strong shoulder. He pushes three fingers inside himself, desperate, and is surprised when the tears start that he has any left.

It's competition season for Viktor right now. Yuuri hasn't turned his phone on in weeks, unable to deal with news, but he knows Viktor will be spectacular—beloved by the world and right where he belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is 95% complete and the next two parts will be posted on Tuesdays.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! Thought I was deleting the draft of chapter 3. I was not. Resubmitted, sorry for the delay.

Yuuri sits down on the park bench, which is a little damp from recent rain. The air smells clean and cicadas buzz in the trees. 

There aren't a lot of options.

He could have stayed in America. Hell, a large part of him knows that he would have been quite welcome in Russia, after the GPF. He's had most of his life to dream up escape plans, clever ways to dodge the law. With suppressants and luck, it was possible. There is no collar around his neck, no police following his every move. Very few people know his secondary gender. Not having a passport makes things difficult but not impossible. His family would support him like always, find a way to ensure he's safe. This is the same family who worked hard to get their son, who loved the ice so much, lessons and skates and an international education.

Yuuri opens the can of sugary cola from the konbini down the street and takes a long sip. He and Phichit used to sneak sodas in Detroit even though Celestino's diet plan forbade the empty calories. It's nostalgic and he's never getting back into competition shape anyway.

Fortified, he pulls out his phone. Takes a deep breath. Turns it on.

It'll take some time before the notifications stop, buzz after buzz after buzz. Yuuri finishes his drink as the sun rises a little further and then puts the can in the recycling.

He still doesn't have the heart to change his lock screen, so he presses his thumb to the lock button as fast as possible. Viktor with one arm around Yuuri, pressed cheek to cheek, flashes past. Then it's his home screen, littered with red notification alerts, missed calls and emails and texts.

His finger hovers over  _home_ on his contact screen.

Yuuri bows his head and tries to remember a time when he hasn't had to say start a conversation with his parents without, "Sorry for not calling." High school...?

He could get out of this, truly. It's his family and their business which would suffer; they'd be fined heavily in his stead. Even with the much-improved tourism thanks to Viktor, Yu-topia wouldn't survive that. If it was found out they helped him, his parents could end up in jail. 

Before he can decide to press call, Makkachin contact photo flashes on the screen as the phone starts to buzz in his hand. Viktor. What are the odds?

Yuuri shuts it off before he can give into temptation and accept.

 

* * *

 

He makes it back to the center just before the final candidate is set to arrive. Yuuri hasn't even opened the Manila folder with details. It’ll just be another alpha, wealthy, older, genetically compatible and eager for Yuuri's body.

He’s barefoot on the tatami, dressed in a blue yukata. There’s a teapot and two cups. He's still fantastically sore from his painful, cramping pre-heat, but despite that maintains a polite seiza.

The door opens and Yuuri doesn't even look up, just starts pouring the genmatcha.

“Yuuri.”

Heart in his throat, Yuuri meets unmistakable blue eyes. He drops the teapot, which clatters but doesn't spill.

Viktor’s arms are open, beckoning for a hug, face determined and desperate.

“Why are you- how are you- you should be _skating_.” Shocked doesn't begin to cover it. This is an impossibility. It will hurt when he wakes up.

Viktor comes closer, sinks down to his knees, arms still open. “Yuuri.”

He's been strong for a long time. Now, it all shatters. Yuuri's reaching for him, pressing his wet face into Viktor's shoulder without conscious thought, sobbing brokenly.

“I missed you so much,” Viktor says, like that explains everything, holding him tight and close, rubbing his back. He’s wearing a gray suit, one he used to wear while coaching, familiar and alien in this Fukuoka room; he smells incredible.

“W-Why are you-” he can barely get the words out, through the tears.

“You weren't with your parents,” Viktor says against his hair, like that's an explanation. “You should have just told me, Yuuri.”

Viktor shouldn’t be here. He should be competing, not in Japan, not in the omega center as a potential mate. He isn’t Japanese, and even if he somehow got past that hurdle, there were the blood tests and screenings…

“You’re an alpha,” Yuuri says, breathing in that distinctive scent, feeling his insides purr in approval. “Why didn’t you ever say-”

“It’s all right.” Viktor says, holding him tighter. “It’s okay. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“You’re going to miss the final. You can’t skate for Russia if- you- how did you–”

“Your parents adopted me,” Viktor says. “And helped me find a place near theirs. There was so much paperwork, you wouldn’t believe it.”

The amount of legal hoops Viktor is talking about going through is mind-boggling. To qualify, he’d have to _renounce his Russian citizenship_. Move himself across the world. All to just have a chance at the medical screen, to maybe match up with Yuuri. Even then, Japan isn't wild about foreigners. It no doubt took some of his fame and money to influence things in this way. 

It’s enough to send a fresh wave of tears crashing through.

“There’s still time,” Yuuri says, trying to think through the options and selfishly, contradictorily clinging to Viktor with all he has. “It’s not over. There must be a way to reverse it. If you want to–”

“Yuuri,” Viktor pulls back, serious, firm. “I know what I’m doing and don’t regret my choices.”

This is the second time Viktor’s uprooted his life to help Yuuri. He tries to gather up the strength he’d had when he ended it with Viktor the first time; finds his reserves empty, utterly so. Selfish. So selfish.

“I’m not worth all this, Viktor.” Fat and plain and heat-sick, he’ll never skate again. He sniffles like a child through his red nose, face aching from tears. New omega hormones aren’t helping.

“Yuuri, look at me.” His eyes are the brightest, purest blue. “I’m here, if you want me. I want you.”

“How can you want this?” Yuuri gestures broadly to himself. He’s a mess, even now producing slick, wet between his thighs. His heat is so close. Viktor must be able to smell it, just like the other alphas had and politely not mentioned. Yuuri had certainly been able to smell arousal on them, thick and terrifying.

“Alpha or omega, skater or not, Katsuki Yuuri, I love you.” Viktor’s long fingers card through Yuuri’s hair and gently cup the back of his skull, protective. Yuuri can’t look away. He can’t even blink, mouth falling open.

There’s no way to fight against this, the light in Viktor’s eyes, the tender way he holds him. “Viktor,” he chokes out, curling closer, pressing his nose against Viktor’s neck; comfort and warmth and safety at long last. It makes him brave. “I love you too.”

Sakurai-san has to clear her throat, delicately, when she comes to collect Viktor at the end of the hour. They are still cuddled together, cheek to cheek; Yuuri grips tight into Viktor’s shirt and shifts closer still, utterly unwilling to let go.

“Nikiforov-san, thank you for coming today,” she tries.

“Sakurai-san,” Yuuri says, voice thick with emotion, before she can say more. “This is the one. Absolutely. Please.”

Viktor kisses his cheek.

“I’m very happy to hear that, Yuuri-kun.” She does actually sound pleased. “But I’m afraid that’s all for today.”

The thought of being apart from Viktor, even for a moment, is daunting, but compared to other choices he’s had to make lately, it’s doable. They both stand. It’ll be Yuuri’s turn for some paperwork, which he’ll have to complete soon so consent is still possible before his heat takes over.

There hasn't been a light at the end of the tunnel for so long. It doesn't feel real.

 

* * *

 

They cut it close, the trip to Viktor’s new Japanese apartment; speeding all the way down the highway, their fingers intertwined. Signatures, promises, and the uncomfortable legal fact that Yuuri is now Viktor’s, pending consummation of their bond.

Yuuri’s body is in heat-driven overdrive; he doesn't have enough experience to say when it will truly start other than soon, very soon. The baggy t-shirt and sweatpants, some of the only clothes he still fits into comfortably, are scratchy and heavy on his too-warm skin.

Sakurai-san had suggested that they spend his heat at the center. Yuuri had given that a hard no. He never wants to set foot in that building again, even if it means this long, uncomfortable drive.

The apartment is small and not particularly extravagant, nothing like the glossy, magazine-worthy decorating of Viktor’s St. Petersburg place.

“I didn’t mean to pick without you, Yuuri.” Viktor says. “We can choose something else if you’d like.”

The entire apartment smells like Viktor, who must have been off his suppressants for some time. Yuuri breathes deep. “It’s fine.”

It’s just Viktor. There’s no reason for the stiffness in his limbs and the thick feeling in his throat. This is a miracle. He should feel nothing but happiness and gratitude. 

“Your heat’s going to start soon, isn’t it?” Viktor asks, taking off his coat and shoes.

Yuuri steps out of his own shoes. “Where’s Makkachin?”

“She’s staying with your parents for now,” Viktor says. “She misses you.”

There are only three rooms: the living area with a mini kitchen, the bathroom, and a bedroom. Yuuri tries not to look at that last door, stomach twisting. Yes, it’s Viktor, who he’s been intimate with before, glorious and warm and sweet, when suppressants masked their secondary genders and things were simpler, but. Even so.

Yuuri didn’t bring much to the center, and left with even less, so it’s just a tiny overnight bag he has to unpack. He sets it down next to the couch, unsure what to do with his hands. His omega-brain has ideas on what to do with them, which he shuts down mercilessly, while he’s still able to.

“I haven’t had a rut since I was fifteen,” Viktor admits in the quiet.

Yuuri meets his eyes. “I’ve had a heat twice. Once in high school, once in the center.” It’s hard to even talk about. His voice comes out stiff and muted. “Yours will probably start when mine does, Viktor. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Viktor says, with conviction. “Neither of us can help this. Yuuri, this is the first time I’ve ever been glad to be an alpha, to help you.”

“I should have told you.” His gender and the restrictions it entails are such a huge, unfair, deeply upsetting tangle of emotions that he blocked them out, pushed them down. He sits on the couch, absently pulling the pillows closer, knowing it’s an urge to nest and feeling angry at how soft the couch blanket is, how nice it smells.

“You should have,” Viktor agrees.

Yuuri grips the blanket a little tighter and Viktor sits down beside him. “When it starts, I won't be able to-”

“I know. It's okay. Me either, Yuuri.”

A selfish part of Yuuri wants to point out that it won't be Viktor, wet and wanton and begging on the sheets, not in control enough to even feel embarrassed. He does not. Instead he absently arranges the pillows into a better place.

They should move to the bed, really, before his stupid hormones make him nest right here.

Viktor digs into his suitcase and pulls out a small white packet, which looks like a strip of pills. “We should talk about this,” he says delicately.

Yuuri eyes it. It’s in a Western language he doesn't immediately identify. Viktor notes his confusion and explains further, “These are contraceptives.”

No doctor in Japan could legally prescribe those to Yuuri, not until he’s had at least one child. Yuuri holds the inexplicable tablets in his hand between thumb and forefinger. “How?”

“I asked Chris to pick them up for us. They're a lot easier to get ahold of in Switzerland.” Male omegas are much more common among Westerners, so that makes sense. Yuuri stares at the packet. Yuuri stares at Viktor, his beautiful face, perfect hair, kind eyes.

“They have some side effects,” the Russian adds. “I’m sorry, but it was all I could-”

Yuuri cuts him off with a passionate, heartfelt kiss, cupping his cheeks, teary-eyed again. Viktor is perfect. Yuuri will never deserve him.

Bonding involves sex, heat sex specifically. Legally, Yuuri is only required to find a mate; forcing a pregnancy went too far for legislators to stomach. However, without anyone to prescribe contraception, and by ensuring matches are healthy and genetically compatible, it’s almost a guarantee that within a year a child is born.

Viktor found a way out. Yuuri wants to crawl into his skin and stay there forever, so deeply in love, needing to be close.

Eyes wide, Viktor pulls away enough to ask, “Is it starting?”

“No,” Yuuri says, kissing Viktor’s neck. “Thank you.”

“These are more for during a heat,” Viktor explains, watching Yuuri’s face. “I thought, the rest of the time, we could use condoms. Unless, you want…?”

“No,” Yuuri says fiercely. His instincts might be screaming to have this alpha mate him right now, to leave his belly warm and full with child, but that’s all physical, outside of his will. “That sounds perfect. You’re perfect. Thank you.”

Viktor presses his lips to the scent gland in Yuuri’s neck, soft. “I don’t want to either. Not yet. You still have a lot more gold medals to win, my Yuuri.”

Thinking about skating has been so painful that he’s refused to confront it, a dream utterly outside of his reach. “Viktor,” he says, pressing his face into the Russian’s neck.

“It’ll be too late for this season, of course, but there’s still time.” Unwavering belief. 

“I haven’t skated in almost a year,” Yuuri admits, over the bubble of hope in his chest. He’d given up on ever being able to return.

“You’re strong, Yuuri.” Viktor’s hands run up and down his spine, slow, reassuring. “The world is waiting to see your beautiful skating again. So am I.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,” Yuuri whispers. “Thank you for staying by my side.”

“Always,” Viktor says, with a real, true smile. Viktor gets him a small glass of water, which he uses to swallow one pill.

Now all that's left is to wait.


	3. Chapter 3

Alpha, beta, omega--with modern suppressants, it hardly matters. They’re easy, low cost and low risk. No heats, no ruts, no uncomfortable scenting in public. In the figure skating world, secondary genders are even less of an issue. What competitive athlete is going to take time off for hormones?

Viktor hadn't really given his dynamic much thought, with so many other things taking priority, except to harbor vague distaste at the ill-fitting Alpha label. His first and only teenage rut had caused a week of missed practice. That was about the biggest impact it’d had on his life. 

It registered so little on his radar that even though he’d dealt with Yuuri's ISU paperwork for a year, the little M-O indicator passed unnoticed. 

Yuuri’s shifting on the couch. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks. 

Viktor can smell the heat on him, thick and sweet. 

“Yuuri,” he says. Hesitates. “Would you like to go lay down?”

Yuuri closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he looks up at Viktor, his brown eyes are determined. The pupils are a little wide. 

Viktor stands and extends a hand. Yuuri reaches out to meet it, grip firm as he stands. They walk towards the bedroom.

Yuuri pauses in the doorway, wide-eyed. _"Viktor.”_

“I knew you wouldn’t have time,” Viktor explains. The bedroom is covered in blankets and pillows, spread like plush snow over the bed and the floor. All of them are Yuuri’s preferred shade of dark blue. “Sorry to presume-”

Yuuri reaches up and wraps his arms around Viktor’s neck, pulling him into an open-mouthed, passionate kiss. This close, the scent of heat on Yuuri’s skin is undeniable. Viktor tilts his head to kiss down Yuuri’s unmarked neck and nuzzle gently against the scent glands there, nearly purring with pleasure when Yuuri does the same to him.

Apparently he likes the nest.

There are way too many clothes right now. Yuuri pushes his pants and underwear down in one smooth motion, shimmying out of them without breaking contact with Viktor. Viktor can feel the omega’s heartbeat pulsing fast where his lips press against the skin of his neck.

Yuuri tugs on Viktor’s pants next, gripping the belt loops and whining high in his throat. _“Off.”_

“All right, all right,” He says. Viktor may be an alpha but when he’s given a command in that voice, he knows what to do. He reaches down to unbutton and remove his jeans, hurried. Yuuri helps tug them down. Viktor’s still kissing Yuuri’s sweet mouth, uncoordinated and awkward. He tastes incredible. Has he always tasted this incredible? 

Their previous times together were the absolute highlight of Viktor’s sex life, but rut hormones are making this something else entirely. Every cell of his body is screaming to take and claim, each touch between them electric.  

It’s a bit of a trick to get their shirts off, since they’re so unwilling to break the kiss. Eventually the desire for full skin-to-skin wins and they discard the last of their clothes. Yuuri pulls him down into the nest, back to kissing with everything he has.

Yuuri is beautiful, thin or fat. The soft omegan curves of his thighs and belly are delicious and Viktor runs his hands eagerly over him.

Since getting off of suppressants, Viktor has woken up from an alarming number of dreams where Yuuri’s stomach is stretched and swollen with his child. It had never been something he’d considered before, but now it’s an aching, guilty desire. He can’t deny a deep, dark part of him is disappointed that Yuuri is on birth control right now and is hoping that the pill’s 95% effective rate leaves a 5% chance for this heat to result in a child anyway.

That’s horrible, isn’t it? He pushes that down again, sick with guilt. Yuuri’s not ready for that. _He’s_ not ready for that. It’s just a thought, pure alpha. Yuuri deserves so much better.

Yuuri’s panting below him, skin hot and flushed all over, when Viktor manages to pull away. He runs his hands reverently down Yuuri’s soft sides and reaches behind to grip his glorious ass, so plush and amazing in his hands. It’ll be so easy to slide right in and fill him up, pump him so full of semen that his belly is swollen with it, knot his tight little hole so it all stays inside.

They’re both hard. Viktor’s balls ache, heavy with need. When a heat and a rut coincide, it’s fast and all-consuming.

Viktor leans down to suck at a dusky nipple, hungry. Yuuri mewls, pressing forward into his mouth. With the weight gain, his chest is much fuller. He has another flash of Yuuri, heavily pregnant and chest swollen with milk-

Viktor forces himself up and kisses Yuuri’s forehead, gentle. 

He’s going to have to get this out before they go any further. “Yuuri, hey.” Viktor says. “Look at me.”

It takes Viktor’s hand on his chin to pull his focus towards Viktor’s face. Yuuri’s eyes are dazed. Slick is practically dripping out of him, the scent of it hot and heavy in the air. “Mmm?” He manages.

“I want you to bite me first.” Viktor says, firm.

“Viktor…” Yuuri’s eyes are caught on Viktor’s lips, entranced.

“Yuuri,” Viktor repeats, stroking Yuuri’s cheek with his thumb. “Yuuri, stay with me.”

Yuuri’s gaze unclouds a bit. “You want me... to bite you first?”

“Yes. If you want to, that is.” Viktor bares his neck and gently cups the back of Yuuri’s skull. For people who choose to live life off of suppressants, and historically, it’s highly untraditional for an omega to bite an alpha first. For the bond to form it isn’t even a requirement for an omega to bite an alpha. Viktor wants to anyway. So many choices have already been taken out of Yuuri’s hands. Viktor doesn’t want this stupid power imbalance to interfere with their lives any more than it has.

Yuuri’s smile is worth it. Flush and dishevelled, Viktor is reminded of the banquet where he first fell for Yuuri; how he was bold, beautiful, talented, and completely drunk.

Yuuri presses his lips to Viktor’s neck, kissing wetly right over the scent gland. Viktor hums encouragement. He feels the sharp press of Yuuri’s teeth against the sensitive area, and then his hand involuntarily clenches in black hair as Yuuri bites down. _Fuck_ , it hurts.

A growl rips itself from his throat. That’s it, a switch has been flipped. Viktor pushes Yuuri down into the blankets with a roughness he will regret later, when the hormones have cleared. He tilts Yuuri’s head to the side and bites down without preamble, hard into the delicious skin of his neck with an intent to leave a very big, very visible mark.

Yuuri’s gasping breaths fill the air as he presses in deeper, fueled by a primal hunger. Viktor reaches down to grip Yuuri’s flush cock, stroking him off firm and quick as he sucks the bond mark on his neck. Each ragged breath Yuuri takes sounds painful, but Viktor can’t stop worrying the bite mark with his lips and teeth any more than he could suddenly become a beta. Yuuri’s still pushing his hips up, slick cock sliding wetly through Viktor’s hand as he meets each stroke.

Bonds are said to be the most intense connection possible between two people. Sometimes in movies it’s portrayed as flashing lights and swirls of color. In novels, authors wax poetic about energy pulsing between the partner’s skin and true love in flowery prose. Scientists talk about endorphins and primal urges and hormones, bonding as a base need fulfilled.

It’s all of that and none of it, not at all. He can feel Yuuri’s heartbeat, not just against his lips but in his own heart, and it doesn’t feel strange or alien. It’s a warm pulse beating alongside his own. Viktor pulls back to look in his eyes and see the same feeling reflected back.

“Wow,” Viktor says. This is apparently a kink of his: Yuuri, happy. He’s so hard it hurts.

“Wow,” Yuuri echoes, smiling, still thrusting shallowly into Viktor’s fist.

Viktor shifts so his erection presses more firmly against the soft skin of Yuuri’s thigh. “Yuuri, Yuuri- can I?”

Yuuii reaches out and grips Viktor’s hand in answer, guiding it to his entrance. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

“No more waiting, zolotse.” Viktor presses two fingers easily into Yuuri’s slick hole. It stretches around his digits, welcoming the intrusion. Yuuri moans, eyes shut in pleasure, and pushes against his hand, fucking himself on Viktor’s long fingers.

“Viktor, please.” Yuuri pushes back onto Viktor’s fingers, spreading his legs wider as he begs.

Viktor pulls his fingers out then all the way back in, marveling at the ease. Yuuri’s body is trying to suck him in, so wet, so open.

Without suppressants, Viktor can actually knot him, stuff him up nice and full. A lot of other alphas applied for the chance to do just that at the center.

It could have been one of them above Yuuri right now.

Yuuri reaches down and presses his own fingers next to Viktor’s, so they’re stretching him open together. Beads of sweat form on his skin as he burns from the heat.

He’s _soˆ_ perfect. Viktor’s eyes keep being drawn to the bond mark on his neck, deep and bruised. He wants to lean down and bite it again and again, make it so if anyone so much as looks at Yuuri they’ll know he’s taken, know he’s Viktor’s, know Viktor is his.

Viktor pulls his fingers out along with Yuuri’s, then presses the head of his erection against Yuuri’s welcoming entrance and slams his hips forward. He holds Yuuri’s hips so he can grind in deep, balls pressed to Yuuri’s ass. It isn’t romantic or sweet, this first, brutal stretch that he will apologize and make up for later. He sets up a bruising pace, balls slapping wetly against Yuuri as he pushes in and out. Yuuri doesn’t seem to mind as he grips Viktor’s hands on his hips tight, nails digging in. 

It’s too much, too fast and he can’t stop. So good, so tight, it’s like his mind has detached from the situation.

“Vik- Viktor-!” Yuuri says. He’s sliding back and forth as Viktor pounds into him, hair in a messy halo against the blue blankets of their nest. “Don’t stop- ahh.”

As if he could _stop_. Viktor laughs and leans down to kiss him again. His hair is falling in his face and his grip on Yuuri’s hips is far too tight. He can already feel the base of his cock swelling up, catching against Yuuri’s rim and squelching with slick.

Unable to help it, Viktor moves to suck at his fresh, abused bond mark again. He’s delighted when Yuuri tilts his head and bites Viktor’s mark right back. He’s Yuuri’s, just as Viktor is his.

“They checked our genetics, before they’d let me have you,” Viktor says, once he’s done making the mark even darker. Yuuri’s expression is dazed, mouth open, cheeks deeply flushed. “We’re a perfect match, you and me.”

Their nest is starting to smell like them both already, instead of just Viktor. Yuuri wraps his legs around Viktor’s hips, gripping tight, pulling him in as close as he can. “Knot me right now,” Yuuri demands.

“I will, I will,” Viktor says, grinding against Yuuri with the little room he has. He’s still so tight.

Yuuri bites his bond mark again and Viktor’s knot pops to fullness as he comes, cock twitching inside with each pump of semen. The stretch is intense as it swells. Viktor couldn’t pull out of him if he wanted to, not without causing major damage. Yuuri holds him in anyway, bracketing his hips with his thighs. Yuuri’s still hard between their bellies, eyes scrunched up in pain from being knotted as he shifts as much as he can to get friction.

“Ahhh, Yuuri,” Viktor says, high on a warm wave of pleasure. “That was perfect, you are perfect.” He reaches between them and strokes Yuuri’s neglected cock, quick and tight. A few strokes are all it takes to feel Yuuri clench around his knot, coming hard between their stomachs.

Knotting is a first for both of them and Viktor’s main complaint is that it’s difficult to cuddle in this position. His knot tucked inside Yuuri’s body feels exquisite. It’s supposed to be half an hour or so, joined like this. He runs his hands up and down Yuuri’s sides, soothing and affectionate. Yuuri looks wrecked below him. “Feeling okay?”

“Mmmm,” Yuuri says, putting his hands over Viktor’s.

It’s going to be okay. They’re going to be okay.

* * *

Yuuri blinks in the dim morning light. Even the movement of his eyelids feels heavy. Every part of his body is soaked in bone-deep exhaustion. Satisfaction, too. The bruises around his bond mark ache as he shifts his head with difficulty to rest more snugly against Viktor’s shoulder.

They overdid it. Certainly.

Yuuri swallows as best he can, mouth parched. The burning desire of that had control of him over the past two days has faded.

The blue blankets surrounding them are in absolute disarray. It will be difficult to clean; do they even have a washing machine? Yuuri pictures taking the bedding to the laundromat, soaked as it is in the scent of their lovemaking, and the heat has definitely left him because the thought is horrifying.

“Yuuri?” Viktor croaks, sounding as rough as Yuuri feels. Yuuri tries to shift his head to get a look at his lover but dizziness overtakes him quickly. He groans.

The primary purpose of an omega center is to provide health care and services specific to omegas: testing, counseling, and simple procedures. Yuuri’s situation itself is rare, so the doctors had been unused to the whole “finding a suitable match” process but very, very used to giving advice about what to do during a heat. Especially once they realized that he had never really been through an adult heat before. There were lectures and pamphlets on how to prepare (stock up on calories days in advance because you won’t want to eat in the lead-up) and take care during (set reminders to drink water, lots of it). 

Yuuri hadn’t put any of it into practice, though. His mental state was not great leading up to the heat, so he didn’t care enough to prepare. And during, well. It was Viktor’s first rut in a very long time, too, and he didn’t have anyone giving him pamphlets. He’d prepared the nest itself, of which Yuuri is extremely grateful, but neither of them ate or drank in the past two days, as far as his hazy memory can tell.

“Viktor,” his voice is a rasp, “water?”

Viktor must find the strength somewhere to rub his hand over Yuuri’s back. It feels so good. ”Yes,” Viktor says.

They’ll have to go to the kitchen, an insurmountable distance away. The thought alone is enough to make him whimper.

“S’ok,” Viktor says, pressing a dry kiss to his forehead.

With a very impressive show of strength, Viktor flops over to the far side of their nest and grabs a water bottle from a stash set up there. Sunlight flashes through the bottle as he struggles his way back over to Yuuri, a distance in reality of a few feet that seems like many leagues away.

Even if Yuuri hadn’t had a lifetime-long crush on Viktor Nikiforov the skating legend, a loving relationship Viktor the person, and a soul bond with Viktor as his alpha and mate, he would have fallen again at the way Viktor pressed the water bottle into his palm and smiled.

The little plastic top is a struggle to open but Yuuri manages after a few tries. Viktor’s on his back, watching Yuuri with a smile that grows a little wobblier when the omega holds the now-open bottle to Viktor’s lips. He covers Yuuri’s hands with his own and takes a deep swallow, then passes it back.

It takes them a while to drain the bottle, passing it back and forth. As he comes a little further out of heat, the griminess of his skin, sweat and dried come make themselves known.

“Bath,” Yuri says, into the skin of Viktor’s shoulder. Do they even have their own bath?

“Mmhmmm,” Viktor agrees, nuzzing Yuuri’s bond mark, his new favorite place.

Neither of them actually move yet.

Just a week ago he’d given up, surrendering to his own biology. Had his time with Viktor really meant nothing? Yuuri won’t forget again. Some dreams too big to carry on your own.

Sore and deeply hopeful for the first time in a long time, Yuuri pulls Viktor up and they stumble together towards the bath and their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever written a complete fic, posted the first two parts, and then felt really insecure about your writing and your life? So you just rewrite the final part four times? No? Just me, then. Apologies for the wait.


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